Love is War
by Seshat
Summary: A one time angsty R/Hr ficlet. Ron broods about a love that should have been. R/R


A/N: Electra kept insisting I post this, so I finally have. I wrote as kind of HP fan fic, and sort of original. What I mean is, it except for one place, I don't mention any names, so I doesn't necessarily have anything to do with HP. But since I'm posting it here, I guess it's a sad R/H story. I hope you like it.

Love Is War

She told me she hated me. She accused me of ruining our friendship. She ripped out my heart and stomped on it. I moped for months, for years, and things were never the same between us. She hated me and that made me miserable. All I did was tell her I loved her.

It took me a long time to admit my feelings for her. She was my best friend after all. But I thought she was amazing, she was the best thing in my life. Her smile made me feel all tingly, I loved how much effort she put into everything, I cherished her intelligence, and I valued her friendship. But then I fell in love with her. 

I didn't mean to, honest. It just happened. I never expected to fall in love with my best friend, I mean, we argued constantly. But I suppose it was my way of making sure her attention was focused on me.

But she pushed me away. She told me she couldn't love me, not like that. It broke my heart; there's nothing like unrequited love to crush the spirit. I left as soon as I could, just walked out of her life forever. I became bitter, cynical, and hateful all because a woman refused me.

I got married. Don't ask why, it was all a stupid mistake. We didn't have a single thing in common, it was sort of a marriage of convenience, except that it wasn't convenient. We were only married for a year before we divorced. By the end we could barely stand the sight of one another. I often found myself comparing my wife to the woman I loved. There was no comparison, really, my wife lost every round.

I didn't even know she was pregnant. She didn't bother to inform me, you see. I only found out when opened my front door one morning to find a bassinet on my stoop with a letter tucked under the blanket. I had a son. His name was Adam, and she was leaving him in my care, essentially because she didn't want him.

So I took him inside and raised my son. I had some help, but mostly I learned on my own, made a few rookie mistakes, and tried to be a good father. Adam grew up happy and relatively well–adjusted. As far as he knew his mother was dead, because as far as I was concerned, she was. He was five years old when I learned the news.

An old friend sent me the letter. She was dead. The woman I had loved practically all my life was dead. I wasn't sure how to react. I was upset, to be sure, because my love for her hadn't abated any over the years, but I was also angry because her last words to me were, "I'm sorry, I just can't love you. As a friend, yes, but nothing more."

I cried that night, I cried until I was sick. I knew Adam was worried, but I was too preoccupied with my own misery to comfort him. But that was wrong. So as soon as I was able to pull myself from the bathroom, I called him to my side and explained the situation as best I could.

I told him a friend of mine died, someone I cared about very much. I told him that I was sad, but I was alright. He listened to my story in that quiet, thoughtful way of his and nodded pensively. Then he toddled away and I was free to mourn again.

I hadn't seen her in ten years at least, but it still hurt, very badly. The memories of her kept coming to mind, particularly the memories of the day I told her I loved her. The day our friendship ended, the day my heart turned to stone. Adam had ended most of that pain, but one corner of my heart was still broken.

Barely a week after I received the first terrible letter, I received another. But this one was from HER. It had been forwarded to me after her death. I opened it with trembling fingers and my eyes drank in every word she had written. The paper even had a lingering smell—her scent. The words flowed before my eyes.

__

"Dearest Ron,

I have started this letter a million different times in a million different ways, but each one sounded worse than the last. I doubt it will ever be sent, but it had to be written. I'm sorry. There, that wasn't so terrible. I dreaded writing those two words, my hand hovered above this page for at least half an hour before I summoned the courage to get it done with. Now that I have, I find the words inadequate. I was wrong. Is that better? And I have to confess, I lied to you. A thousand times over, I lied to you. I feel it's too late, but I have to tell you. I love you. I have loved you. I loved you when you told me you loved me. Why did I lie then? I know you, that's what you're asking. The answer? I could say I was scared, but I'm trying to be absolutely honest with you. I was scared, yes, but that wasn't it entirely. It was just that the day you told me how you felt, my parents filed for divorce. I didn't want to hurt you like that. I thought it was better to lose you than to love you and hurt you. I was wrong, I'm sorry. Now I'm too late, but you had to know.

Love Always"

I let the letter drop onto my lap. Tears blurred the page, but every sentence was burned into my heart.

Adam came back into the room, clutching something in his tiny hand. He climbed onto my lap and showed it to me. It was a photograph.

"Is this my mommy?" he asked. When my wife left I burned every photograph I had of her, so it was obviously not his mother.

It was an older picture, from my school days. The girl in the photograph was lovely, just on the threshold of womanhood. She was smiling and laughing, so happy. I loved her so much.

I almost lied to him, I almost said, yes, son, that was your mother. Wasn't she beautiful? But I couldn't. I would have been wrong. Instead I gave him a hug and sighed.

"No, Adam, that is not your mother. That was the woman who should have been your mother. She was the love of my life, and she loved me too."

I knew I was confusing Adam, but he was very mature for a five year old. He yawned sleepily.

"Then why isn't she my mommy?" he asked.

"Because we were foolish," I said with a sad sigh. "She turned me away and I gave up too easily. I should have tried harder, but I was foolish. Now it's too late."

I ran my fingers through his soft red hair. He was nearly asleep.

"It's never too late," he murmured.

I smiled unhappily. "This time it is, Adam."

He fell asleep on my lap. I continued to sit there, just thinking. I thought of her, the woman I loved. I thought of her smile, her sparkling eyes. Then I realized that she was gone. I couldn't fix my mistake. It was too late, I had lost.

But when I looked down at the little boy on my lap, my little boy, I thought, I may have lost the battles, but I won the war.


End file.
